And the Oscar goes to...

This morning, when Robert started playing with his blue "gaton" (baton), Miller realized her pink one was missing. She had everyone looking high and low, and we couldn't find it anywhere. She kept wanting to crawl and look way under my bed, a dirty, dusty place I didn't want her creeping in her light pink leotard, but, of course, that's exactly where she found it. She was so proud as she pulled it out, and started into a five minute speech that could have ranked among the best Oscar acceptance speeches in history.

"Dad, I couldn't have done it without you."
"Thanks for helping, everyone."
"Thanks to my whole family for helping me. I couldn't have done it without you."
And so on...

Then, I'm not sure what changed her mind, but she transitioned into, "Dad, you couldn't find it... No one else could find it but me."


When do you know you've been talking about the economy too much? When your 4-year-old says to your 2-year-old: "Robert, don't mess up the blinds. If you did, we would have to replace them, and we can't replace them right now." That's verbatim.

Nausea, fatigue, and dental hygiene

I've not been blogging much lately, for the simple reason that I've been so nauseated and tired, I can hardly stand to do anything beyond the most basic duties of the day. The past couple of days, thankfully, some relief. The reason for nausea and fatigue? The best reason in the world - a baby. A little, tiny, smaller than peanut-sized life, with a strong, fast, heartbeat that I've seen twice now through the miracle of ultrasound. Is anyone gasping that I would write about something so personal, and so early, (only 10 weeks) on a blog?? Rest assured, not that many people read this blog. Besides, these musings will one day be for Miller and Robert, and this is a major Murray event. And how can I talk, or write, without mentioning this thing that occupies so much of my thoughts? I can't. What if she miscarries?, you may be thinking. If I did, if I do, I think I would have to write about that as well. I've seen a precious friend be quickly, painfully thrust from the hope and excitement of impending motherhood to the heartbreak of miscarriage in the past few weeks, and I know it's not a path I could walk alone. So there it is. God willing, I'll be a mother of three in September. I can't believe it.

While I was getting the kids something to eat earlier this week, Miller said, "Mom, I don't like most things you make." Tell it like it is, kiddo. Needless to say, this lessened my motivation for cooking, which was already quite low, to nil. I was pleased as punch last night when she told me she really liked my chicken (pork chops) and rice. A much needed shot in the arm, especially since Robert rarely takes one nibble of anything I cook. He looks things over, says, "I don't like dat", pushes his plate away, and asks for applesauce.

Another Millie quote from a couple of weeks ago. Andrew, Robert, Miller, and I were gazing out the front window, keeping watch for a neighborhood cat my kids are enthralled with, one that Robert affectionately calls, "white titty." Miller spotted it and said, "That cat looks very similar."

Similar to what? Andrew said, laughing.

Okay, the real nitty gritty. I took the kids to their 6-month dental checkup this week. To call it a horrendous experience would be an understatement. This is the Murrays at the dentist: Robert goes first. He screams, cries, kicks, and thrusts his body so hard, it's difficult for me and the hygienist to hold him, but we manage to get his teeth brushed and rinsed. Now for Miller. Miller makes such a scene that she causes all other children to start crying as well, and I get dirty looks from their mothers. After peeling her off my shoulder and getting her on the table, she screams, cries, kicks, and thrusts her body so hard, it's difficult for me, the hygienist, and a second hygienist holder-helper to hold her. She dry heaves because of the taste of the toothpaste, a paste I picked b/c it was called "pumice" and supposedly had no taste. You think this story's over? Now I'm over-the-top mad, frustrated, and sweaty, (too mad to care how the kids were feeling; aren't I sweet?)and we haven't even started the dental exam. Dr. Baker comes by to look at their teeth. Robert - same song, second verse. Miller - same song, second verse, except that even Robert is screaming this time during her exam because she's so seemingly traumatized. Whew. It's over. Wrong. Dr. Baker grimaces, sighs, and says, "She has 4 cavities that I can see, and I'm worried that more is going on in between her teeth.

EXCUSE ME??? DO 4-YEAR OLD'S GET CAVITIES???

I am shocked, horrified. I feel like a woman with no means or education, a woman who gives her children fun-dip and ring pops and lets them drink coke. And here's the stinker. I've been so careful what I feed them. (I promise!) I'm telling the dentist all these things, eyes welling up with tears (get a hold of yourself, mom!!), feeling brokenhearted that I've failed my baby girl, feeling my pride as a mom who takes care of her children smashed, still trying to listen as he mentions a SILVER CROWN that may have to go on her back molar - Miller P-Diddy Murray - and processing my options of trying to fill cavities in the mouth of a child who is so impossibly "anxious" (as Dr. Baker describes her) at the dentist. My best option seems to be putting her to sleep. I cried the rest of the day. That's the end of the story. Updates to come...

Millie stayed with Janny last weekend, all by herself, and Robert missed the heck out of her. This pic was reunion night.

Theology

One day recently after a hard rain, we had three really neat worms on our front walk.
L: "Did you know God made those interesting worms?"
R: "That worm BITE God!!"
(He's fully convinced that worms and frogs bite.)

Pretending to read out of a biography:
R: "Dis Bible"....lots of nonsense...."God HIT you."

I don't understand where this propensity to violence comes from, for either of my kids. (Remember Libba's bottom blowing up?) Does Mickey Mouse Clubhouse have some kind of covert message that's undetectable to adults?

Robert's role play suggestion to Janny last week: "I be Noah. You be God."

It's another cold, rainy day. Yesterday was warm and sunny, and the kids got to play outside for hours. This was altogether wonderful, except for the part where Robert pooped on the deck. Needless to say, still potty training. Still no potty pooping. Thankfully, I maintain my cool during any and all potty mishaps. =)

BFF

Miller cried after school today, and after a while of not being able to get to the bottom of it, she finally told me that a little girl in her class had said that Miller wasn't her friend. My eyes are welling up again just thinking about it. When she was looking up at me with tears pouring out of those sweet blue eyes, I thought about how this was only the first of many times that her little feelings will be hurt. And worse, there are sure to be as many times that another child will cry because of hurtful things Miller will say and do.

There are a million great things about having Miller and Robert so close together in age (and a million hard things), but I love that she always has little Bud to be her friend. I also love that in her relationship with him, she's able to see her own propensity to be unkind, and see what it means to be forgiven, and to forgive.

Because Andrew's out of town, my friend Rushton invited us for dinner. It was exciting as always. Robert found and threw (and smashed) a light bulb on her two-year-old's bedroom floor; Miller got to borrow and bring home yet another baby doll; Robert was offered a tractor to borrow, but pitched such a fit about not wanting the tractor, but a crane instead, that his mommy ended up saying he could borrow nada. Rushton, my most laid-back friend, let them play with play-doh on her carpet, and even made them each a slice-n-bake cookie with snowflake sprinkles on the side. M & R chewed gum on the way home, and that's as close to a perfect ending of a day as you can get with these two. I'd love to say they fell right asleep....

In the second picture, they were singing Jingle Bells. We can never quite shake the Christmas songs here until about September. Robert doesn't know the words, but sings it like this: "Jingle Bells, Da da da, da da da da da."

Makeup

To make sure Robert would take a good nap at Janny's house today, I put him in the baby bed to sleep. Janny keeps her makeup in the same room. I can't believe he knew where Bobbi Brown gel eyeliner should be applied...

Freezing

It's freezing here today, and I mean FREEZING. So cold that I'm rushing the kids when we get in the car, and rushing them inside when we get back home. Being inside all the time isn't so good for any of us, especially Robert, whose cabin fever turns into lots of hitting, yelling, and throwing his body across the room. (All behaviors which are pretty run-of-the-mill for him, but worse when he can't expend any energy running across the yard.) It's been one of those days that make me wonder - Is this what my kids will remember about me? Miller and Robert fought all morning, and I responded like a crazy mommy, yelling back at them, scolding, and being sarcastic, instead of patiently helping them figure out how to hibernate together. I hate days like this, and always want to slip down the slope into: Woe is me! I don't deserve these children! But then I have to remind myself: I don't deserve these children. They're a gift, a well-thought-out, fearfully, wonderfully made gift, created specifically for me to mother, though I'm a crazy mommy who can't make it one minute without the Gift-giver. And one of the greatest things about them is how they show me that I can't make it one minute without Him. At the brink of insanity on this cold day, my sweet pea, Miller, comes up and says, "I love you, Mama, more than you can imagine." And I was warmed all the way from head to toes. I told her I was sorry for being such a bear, and she said, "I forgive you. You should always be kind to me." What could be more painful than the gap between the mom you want to be and the mom you are? And I told her for the gagillionth time that I'll never be kind all the time, but that there's One who is always kind, and always tender.

They had some peaceful playtime together tonight, and acted out a pretend scenario in the laundry room/pantry in which - Robert was a fire-fighter; they hoarded books and balls; Robert kept trying to sneak out with my canned goods; and Miller informed me that I was the grandmother, and that I needed to carry a cane. I now hear Robert doing his new big-boy bed nightly routine. He gets right out, turns off his noise maker, turns on his lamp, and plays like it's the middle of the morning...

Some funny quotes from the last week:

Miller came in to get her goodnight kiss from Robert. His kisses are the sweetest, messiest, roughest kisses, and she said, "Thank you, slobber boy."

Today while I was making lunch in the kitchen, Miller told me the following:
"Libba makes a hot dog and cheese sandwich."
Really?
"Yes. It tastes like ham."
Hmmm.
"Guess what the main ingredient is?"
What?
"Cilantro."

Sunday night in the car (M): "Hey! I just said 'finger' and 'sticker'. That rhymes!"

Robert is really into chapstick and has been asking me quite often: "Where my chopstick?"

He had a double ear infection last week, along with a few days of fever, and said over and over during his illness: "I so sick." I thought it was the cutest, most pitiful little statement, and he liked my reaction, I guess. So in the days following, when he was much better, he kept using the line. Every time he acted up, he would simply say, "I so sick." And one night, when he was in trouble for getting out of his bed, he even pulled out, "I go hospital."

Funny kid things

Earlier this week, I made a 10 minute attempt to commence potty-training with little Bud. When I trained Miller, I followed the advice of a book that advised parents to keep the emphasis on the child staying CLEAN and DRY, and to this end had the parent and child pick a specific baby doll to simultaneously train in staying clean and dry. Well, Robert and I put a pair of his big-boy undies on a blue puppy dog, one of several animals and toys that sleep with him. After two back-to-back episodes of not clean and oh-not-so-dry, I decided to throw in the towel. So much for perseverance, and anyway, he's only two and a half. Well, I took the undies off the blue dog before nap time, and Robert strongly objected, so I put them back on. When I went in to get him after his nap, he had transferred the underwear to... his new Batman helicopter.

A few days ago, Robert walked up to me and announced, "Miller born...stable."

Miller had to climb down from her chair at dinner to tell me a secret. She needs to tell me about three secrets during every meal, and they almost always involve Libba's upcoming birthday. Tonight, she whispered, "Libba is going to have a birthday next week and she's going to be 61. For her birthday, one of her friends is going to come over to her house. Her friend's name is Caroline. Sometimes they call her: Carolina...North."

A major difference between Miller and Robert: Anytime Miller gets hurt, even if it's the slightest boo-boo imaginable, her answer to, "Are you okay?" is always, "NO." Robert can come very close to busting his head open, and will immediately jump up and say, "I'm okay! I'm okay!" I relate more to Miller, and milk situations for all they're worth, but I really admire Robert's optimism. All day long, I hear him walking into doors, banging his head, falling off beds, slip-sliding into walls as he rounds corners too quickly, and then, "I'm okay!!!!!!!!!!!!!"